Sword of The Spirit
by Nick.Norma
Summary: Inspired by Marvel. Rated for gore and spiritual themes. When Darkness consumes a city and no hope is left alive, A powerful warrior Angel by the name of Michael arrives, in search of a young teen who is plagued by a spiritual gift he is unable to handle.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**H**e ran at an immortal speed. The roof tops below his feet just a grey blur. It was night and the moon hovered high above, a slight drizzle rained down on the City.

Michael whipped his long hair from his eyes as he ran. He wore a black leather trench coat and black clothes underneath that. If you met him on the streets of Helsing that night he would've been someone to avoid, even if the two feathery wings protruding from his back weren't there.

Michael was an Angel. Archangel to be exact, a warrior for the almighty and supreme Lord God. Born in the unimaginable paradise heaven he had been trained by Jesus himself in the art of Spiritual warfare. And now over two thousand years later he was one of the most respected and experienced solder Heaven had ever seen.

His bare feet pounded against the concrete but it made no matter to him for with those two big wings he more glided than sprinted across Helsing.

Rising up ahead rose the huge bell tower of the city centre church its huge stain glass window glowing faintly in the gloom. As Michael clomped towards it he saw the gigantic gap between it and the building he was on and smiled, he loved this part of his job.

Reaching the edge of the structure he leapt forward and with a single flap of his wings, swan dived through the glass window and landed with a forward roll on the wooden floor, guns drawn.

Yes, guns. Uzis if you preferred that term. Michael favoured modern weapons contrary to most angels who used the conventional sword. Michael still used his sword, but only for extreme spiritual battles.

He was in the attic. He could tell that because the room was dark, warm and filled with old books and church objects. Cobwebs strung from boxes to the rafters. He stopped a moment to admire gods' creations but was soon looking for the way down to the bottom floor. He soon discovered it, a spiralling well of creaky stairs that seemed to be more dangerous than anything else. Michael was now standing on a balcony above the main hall of the church. Peering down with fiery eyes he watched as a group of hooded men- The Crimson circle, they called themselves; walked through the pews to the front where a silver altar stood with a mortal woman chained to it. She seemed to Michael to be in some kind of trance because although her eyes were wide open she made no attempt to move.

The leader- Vime, he was called stepped up to the table with a large stone knife. His followers began to chant and moan hauntingly. Cutting her forehead Vime's muttered something too and was about to slash down through her chest when Michael decided to act.

He ascended like a golden lion and jumped from the balcony into the chaos below. Bullets exploded from his weapons as he spun at a super human speed around in a circle sending the members flying into the pews and crashing over one another. When the smoke cleared Michael remembered Vime and turned his weapons around to where he thought the man to be. He caught him trying to escape through a window and was about to fire when a huge clawed fist smashed into his jaw. Michael was sent sprawling across the cold limestone floor. He looked up and wiped a trickle of blood from his lip. Hovering to his left was the creature that the crimson circle had summoned. A foul creation of the Abyss, a demon from the pits of hell. It was horrible to look upon thought Michael. It wore no clothes as it had no need to, it was blackish purple skinned and it had a pair of slivered glowing red eyes. Two long straight horns rose from the top of its head, a whip like tail slashed back and forth behind it. It had in its hand a long curved blade that emitted a dark smoke.

Michael stood, legs solid on the ground. His guns clattered to the floor and he reached into his Jacket and drew his sword. It shone like a bright light and written on it was "The word of God" The Angel charged towards his fiend and struck with his weapon. Narrowly avoiding it the Demon fluttered higher up, near the ceiling and cackled,

'Missed me' it chuckled.

Michael flapped his wings and chased after it. Round and round the two went in a valiant crashing of blades. Sparks flew and blood was drawn by both parties. Michael's sword shot forward which the monster evaded and was briefly distracted. Michael took advantage of this and hacked off a horn. The thing cried in fury and charged straight into Michael's sword.

Pulling it out of its gut Michael spun his arms and sliced of the things head sending black blood splattering to the ground. Its body evaporated and Michael gave a sigh of relief.

It was over now, it was over.

Or was it?

Meanwhile on the other side of the city something occurred. Down an alley blood was spilt. Strangely there was no one there to spill it and no one there to have it spilled. The dark red liquid just simply appeared in the very fabric of reality itself. It lay like a puddle, dead centre in the air. There was a ripping sound and it began to spread itself into three small shapes. They where numbers: 660...


	2. ONE: Troy

**I**

**TROY**

Somewhere in Helsing was the Orphanage. Filled almost to the brim with children ranging from ages three to seventeen. The Orphanage had everything a young person needed, figures of authority, education and discipline. In fact most parents dumped their kids there to live even if they weren't dead. Not many morals existed in Helsing, and that was a worry.

The kids however hated the place. The teachers consisted of cruel elderly women and the use of a Cain was commonplace.

They where neglected from any kind of love and barely survived on the smelly glop that was served up to them three times a day. This made them bullies or withdrawn and both "species" were most likely to be mugged, mug someone or commit suicide.

Troy was one of the withdrawn pupils. Fourteen years of age Troy had lived in the Orphanage his whole life and had still not grown used to its cruel life. He had short brown hair, was slightly chubby and his green eyes seemed to be ever fearful. That was because they where. Troy was a troubled young man. Troubled by visions, he saw things no one else could. Creatures both demonic and angelic. Troy could see the battles raging on in the spirit realm of this world. Scared witless Troy had never tried to socialise with other kids and as a result of this he had no friends what-so-ever and resolved to talking to himself quietly and crying where no one could see him. He was bullied constantly by children and the adults alike just making it worse.

Troy hated his life, if you could call what he had a life. But at least it was something he thought he could handle, he didn't like change, and change unfortunately has a way of showing up when you least expect it.

It started one blustery stormy day. Troy had been going to his subjects as usual and now at 2:00 sharp was social science with the wicked mss Bras, a foul old lady who delighted in nothing more that to tease and bully her students. As Troy sat down at his desk in the corner of the room Mss Braz took her place at the front of the class. She was dressed in her traditional black buttoned up mothball smelling dress. Her wispy grey hair was tied up in a bun behind her and her thin pursed lips had been painted with a ghastly purple lipstick. Wrinkles covered her face and made her more aggravated than usual,

'Good afternoon you little brats' she greeted the class,

'Good afternoon' came the chorused reply,

'Right before we get into this weeks lesson I'm afraid I must move you two apart' she pointed and a pair of girls trying to hold a whispered conversation,

'And you' she pointed at a smelly little fat boy,' Are no longer welcome in my class, why? I don't know- because I don't like you. Go on, get out, sod off!' she shoed him away,' right, anyone else want to talk in my class? No? Good!'

Troy meanwhile was shaking uncontrollable in fear from the back. Mss Braz spotted him and gave a cackle,

'Troy, what is wrong with you boy? Tell me!'

Troy continued to shake at the sight of a huge horned purple beast grinned at him and gripped his teachers shoulder. It lifted a clawed finger and put it over its mouth as if to say "quite!"

'Oi! What the heck's wrong with you?

'Stop disrupting the class! Stop it I say!'

Troy answered with a scream that tore through the class room like a tornado. That did it for Mss Braz she slammed her hand down on her desk and walked straight over to Troy and grabbed his ear. Troy shuddered violently as a deep cold sensation crawled down his back,

'Come with me young man!' she tugged him out of his seat and through the door,' No one move while I'm gone!'

She led Troy into a small dark room just down the hall. She made him stand in the centre of the room and picked up a cane from the floor,

'No one disrupts my class do you hear me?' she hit him hard and he collapsed onto the floor...

Detective Thompson of the Helsing city watch stared long and hard at a map of the city in front of him. Marked in red dots on the parchment where the murders had been occurring.

Helsing was your average big city, Thompson thought, but over the past few months it had all gone down the drain. There was a serial killer loose on the streets. A killer who seemed to be more ghost than man, committing an amazing feet this...thing had already killed let's see...hmm... Thompson counted the dots-460! How was that even possible? Your common murderer would crumble by now and would have checked himself into a lunatic asylum! But this, this was different. The Bodies...Ughh! Those poor people disfigured and mutilated beyond the point of even recognising them as human beings- some of the victims had only managed to present themselves as a bloodied pile of minced meat! And his symbol! This monsters' calling card was indefinitely found painted on the wall a few metres away in blood, a splattered circle with a dash straight through it. What did it all mean? He didn't know, but he needed to find out soon, the government were not happy about his stations ability to keep criminals off the streets and Thompson feared he would be the first to be knocked off the force.

The man sighed and flattened what hair he had on his head and he stood up. Taking the last swig of his coffee he buttoned up his coat grabbed an umbrella and left the office...

Troy cried out in terror as flames exploded all around him. The walls! They where on fire, with faces! Horrible crabby sharp toothed faces peered out at him through the flames laughing and mocking him. Plaster fell from the roof. His teacher Mss Braz lay dead, under a pile of rubble. How had this all happened? Troy asked himself amidst all the confusion. That's right, the creature had caused this. That evil grinning monster that had been following his teacher had only moments ago drawn a curved sword and stabbed the ground. There had been an almighty earthquake and a huge piece of the ceiling had fallen on her. Immediately Troy saw her soul- a smoky white version of herself rise from her corpse. The thing had grabbed her and dragged her off kicking and screaming into a smoky red portal that had appeared only moments earlier. Troy was not sure where the flames had come from, nor that incredibly strong wind but he had an idea that the portal had a lot to do with it.

Hot air blew in his face sending his hair flapping wildly against the side of his head. Troy struggled forwards to the door leading out as the breeze pulled him, beckoned to him from the portal.

Finally he reached the door, much to the annoyance of the flaming faces and tugged it free. He stumbled out into the corridor and gasped.

The Earthquake had split the floor right down the middle and devilish flames lapped up from the pits below. Troy watched in horror as students where slowly being herded towards the centre of the danger. Deciding he couldn't help anyone Troy made a break for a window. Tugging on it he tried to open it but the thing seemed stuck. Not having any time to waste he stuck his elbow through the glass and made a gab large enough to wriggle through. Glass cut at his belly but he didn't care he moved as fast as he could until he stumbled out into the rainy city around the orphanage.

He scrambled across the field of now scorched and torn ground and through the large metal gate hanging by one hinge.

He had retreated to a safe distance, the streets where the earthquake had hardly been felt. Troy discovered that his school clothes- a white shirt, grey pants and a woollen cardigan where torn to shreds. Deciding he needed a place to rest and calm down Troy hobbled down a dark alley and fell into a deep sleep behind some trashcans.


	3. TWO: The Dwelling of the Hidden

2

'...and while the mysterious serial killer continues his work in the slums of Helsing, a ferocious earthquake ripped through an orphanage at three o'clock today' the solemn face of the news presenter woman said emotionlessly, '...The death count so far is sixteen children and two teachers, there are of course many still missing and authorities fear the worse. We have more on this topic later at ten tonight. In other news the destruction of a priceless stained glass window in the Helsing City Catholic church is still a mystery, authorities say that...' The TV screen was switched off and he spun in his chair back to face Michael, who was sitting across the table, 'Michael, Michael, Michael...' God grinned and shook his head in mock anger, 'What am I going to do with you? I give you a simple mission and you go and desecrate a beautiful piece of art. A catholic window yet! There'd be uproar if they knew an Angel was at fault'

'Good.' Michael clenched his jaw,' those religious fogies could do with a good foot up their backside!'

Good smiled understandingly and his face glowed. He reminded Michael of what the mortals imagined Santa Claus as, but not fat- just well built- and no red clothes either, 'You and your rebellious nature- first you abandon our traditional weapons now your insulting my "Devout" followers' God said,

'Well I must be rebellious for some reason God, You made me like that'

'Good point, come closer so I can change your personality'

'No'

'There's that rebellion again!'

Michael smiled a little before getting back on task,

'So, why have you called me, my lord?' he asked,

'To congratulate you on foiling the plans of that Vime, and; to put your rebellious nature to use'

'Oh'

'So are you ready for this?'

'I'm ready for anything' Michael half snapped,

'Why oh why couldn't you just sit on a cloud and praise me?' God said under his breath, 'What?'

'I need you to go back to Helsing'

'Why?'

'I'll tell you: If you look here...' he turned the TV back on. It showed a computer generated map of the city,' Two days ago our computer monitored a major demonic occurrence in the orphanage on the news. It seemed to centre on a young Fourteen-year-old boy named Troy. For some reason Hell really wants him dead.'

'Some reason? Come on God, you're... God- why does Satan really want him? You can tell me!'

'This is on a need to know basis, and right now; you don't need to know' God replied,

'Whatever. So what, you want me to find this boy and protect him?'

'Not only protect him, but convert him'

'But we angels aren't aloud to convert people directly; we have to work through other humans don't we?' Michael asked,

'Yes usually, but this boy is different, he will be able to actually see your true, Angelic state- wings and all. He needs you to be his friend as well as his body guard.'

'So does that mean if he can see me he can also see...?'

'Yes, he can see the enemy's children- he can see demons.'

'Wow'

'So, I've always wanted to say this: Your mission, if you choose to accept it...'

'Do I have to accept it? I don't work to well with kids...'

'...yes you do! Now: Your mission- YOU WILL choose to accept it, is to track down Troy, befriend and protect him from the angels of darkness until further notice'

'Great' Michael said,' Where is he?'

'Dunno, try the ruins at the Orphanage' God replied with a grin,

'But you do know! You're God!' Michael moaned...

Vime stumbled along a dark alley; he was dressed as usual in a dark hooded robe. He looked worried. Glancing left and right quite often, the rugged looking man hurried towards a small wooden door at the end of the alley. He tugged on the handle and went inside.

A small room was concealed behind the door, and in that room, a black onyx statue of a man with three faces. Bowing in front of the statue, the clearly deceived man began to whisper in hushed tones, 'Master, we have located the boy, we await further orders'

He waited for about three minutes before an echoing voice entered the room, '_Hold your position, I will send a warrior to collect the boy_'

'Yes my lord, we will stay at our fortress under the church until further notice'

'_Good. Now go_'


	4. THREE: Befriending The Wicked: Revised

Befriending the wicked

Troy lay huddled in the darkest corner of the darkest alley. He cried long and hard. While he had been able to put up with the monsters for the whole of his life, this was the first time something drastic had happened and people had died. For so long he had held in the tears but now the just poured out down his cheeks and truth be told, it just made him feel worse.

While he sobbed quietly to himself the alley suddenly got a lot colder and darker, the creatures that had assaulted him for so long were back, 'oh Troy...' a voice whispered,' why do you cry?' the voice was strangely haunting and beautiful. Troy stopped and opened his eyes. A shining light blinded him with a soothing warmth, 'who...who are you?'

'Why I am an Angel, can't you tell?' the light sung,

'An Angel... are you real?'

It was strange, Troy had never thought of there being Angels or even a God, he supposed now there must be, if those things that he had endured all his life were Demons...

'What do you want?' Troy whimpered,

'I don't want anything... except to help you. If you want those beings to disappear step into the light'

'Really you'll get rid of them?' Troy asked scrambling up,

'Of course'

'...okay...'

* * *

Michael walked through Helsing that night with watchful eyes. Something was not quite right, the city seemed darker, more foreboding than usual. The city was silent, as if everyone was hiding from someone, or something. 

Guns in hands he walked and walked and walked. A wind blew across the buildings making everything a lot creepier. He was, of course searching for the boy who God had called Troy. He had started around the ruins of the orphanage but found nothing, and now he was searching the side streets and alleys.

Suddenly he heard a quiet chatter from down one of the alleys. Turning down it he gasped, the boy, he was talking to a demon in disguise!

'I don't want anything... except to help you. If you want those beings to disappear step into the light'

'Really you'll get rid of them?'

'Of course'

'...okay...'

Michael ran quickly towards the boy and dived at the demon, 'NOOOO!'

He tackled the beast and they tumbled to the ground. Troy screamed and began to crawl back up into the corner and shake back and forth repeatedly, 'why, why, why?'

Michael rolled on top of it and held his Uzi to its head, 'If you are truly from the Lord, dodge this!' the gun exploded and the Demon's head was blasted into oblivion. Blood and brain fluids splattered across the ground with a sickening thud.

He stood up and turned to Troy who wept with fear, 'Please, no!

'Troy moaned and shut his eyes, awaiting death. But death did not come. Cautiously Troy opened his eyes and found a hand held out for him. He reached up and grabbed it. Michael pulled him up, 'Who are you?' he asked,

'The name's Michael- I'm the angel!'

* * *

Detective Thompson stood in front of the latest victim. A woman, Leann Shelly lay in a crumpled mess on the floor of her uptown house. A puddle of blood dribbled smoothly across the lino and painted savagely across the walls was the number 661. James- another cop walked up to Thompson, 'What do you think detective?' he asked. Thompson considered the scene in front of him for a moment, 'Put the station on full alert- we have a copy cat' 

'Sir?' James asked,

'You heard me- a copycat- someone is short on ideas so they're piggy backing on our monster'

'How can you tell?'

'See the numbers? 661 splattered across the wall. What seems odd about that compared to the other victims?'

'Um… it just looks like your regular run-of-the-mill bloodied letters sir'

'It's sloppy'

'Sloppy, sir?'

'Yes- sloppy! All the other numbers were perfectly painted on the wall- no dribbles or anything. This guy is obviously not our killer'

'Well that's just great- now we have two killers to find'

'Yes it seems so'

* * *

Later that night Thompson arrived home. His apartment- a small dirty shack of a place welcomed him as he entered with a well tuned creak. Throwing the keys down in their tray, Thompson grabbed a cold burger and sat down at his desk. Opening his suitcase he pulled out the files on the serial killings and began to study them feverishly. 

There had to be a connection between the killings in there somewhere. He took a bite of the burger and flicked through the photos of the victims, everything seemed the same, The numbers were painted exactly the same, the body- what was left of it was arranged in the same position, in fact the only thing out of the ordinary was…

'What the hell?' he hissed looking closer at the photos.

There was a blur on each one of the pictures, hardly noticeable but there was definitely a foggy patch sitting above the victim's chest. Thompson's mind began to go into over drive, and he began to notice other things strange about the victims:  
They were all women, although there was no sign of sexual activity on them.

They all seemed to be fairly young, and most importantly- their throats were slit in a very peculiar way.

Thompson ran a scan on the photo and then cut the part of the photo that contained a slit throat and enlarged it. Yup, there was definitely something new to the way they had been cut- A long thin curve of a slash suggested a thin sharp blade and if he zoomed in close enough he could see small spots of flaked gold,

'Now what kind of knife has gold plaiting?' he asked himself, and then the answer- it hit him. A ceremonial dagger- these murders weren't your average run of the mill killings- these were occult sacrifices!

Thompson immediately connected to the net and began to search for a list of all recorded cults in Helsing. He was given over five hundred results to sift through. He searched within results for Ceremonial daggers and was returned with four hundred and fifty, he had a long night ahead of him…


End file.
